My thoughts while on the train home from work last night went something like this:
“Man, I don’t know how it happened, but somehow Boyz II Men let “End of the Road” become their defining song, when “Motown Philly” is way better – and really, it’s one of the most underrated songs of all time.”
“Wait a sec, what the fuck is that???”
Look at the size of that fucking bag on her hip.
Now, I know that North Face has somehow become ultra cool here, but this is taking it a step too far.
Last I checked there weren’t any mountain ranges here, so maybe you should take off the fucking gear before you knock someone out with that thing.
What can you possibly have in there?
I mean, I saw the knock-off Gucci’s you got from Canal Street poking out of there. And look, everyone knows they’re fake, so congrats on owning a pair of sunglasses that I can find at Duane Reade.
And if you don’t mind, can I just jump in there? My feet are kinda tired and I’d love the lift home. It’ll be fun! It’ll be like I’m in a sidecar on a motorcycle, only I’m sure sidecars don’t have tampons and lipstick in them. Though maybe they do.
Also, I know shit from North Face is mad overpriced, so you definitely paid too much for it. I imagine it must’ve been a tough decision: “Let’s see, this bag is fucking huge, totally unnecessary, and costs over $200… I’ll take it!”
But I haven’t even brought up the worst part yet, which makes me think that maybe you made A Mistake.
In fact, I know you made A Mistake – because no matter how much it cost and no matter what brand name is on it, you’re still rocking a fanny-pack.